


Destinies, Dragons, and Rooftops

by i_amtheoutlaw



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Community: kinkme_merlin, M/M, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the kinkme_merlin prompt:</p>
<p>Arthur/Merlin</p>
<p>After a series of tragedies Merlin finds himself on a bridge(or on top of a building)in the middle of the night contemplating ending it all. What he doesn't expect is that a blond prat seems to have had the same idea.</p>
<p>The two men proceed to try to talk each other down off the ledge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destinies, Dragons, and Rooftops

**Author's Note:**

> This is all thanks to my lovely beta, LucifersHitman. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for any unpleasant thoughts or feelings this may cause. 
> 
> I've been told, and I quote, "I was expecting that one to get really depressing really fast but, you kept it light and sweet yet completely honest to the characters. You pictured depression perfectly because it's not about sadness and hate, it is that need for just. Peace, feeling empty or helpless inside. You weren't stereotypical or stupid about it and you didn't once take the piss. Thank you for that by the way - too many people do even if they don't realize it."
> 
> And hearing that right there gave me the confidence to post this. 
> 
> Thanks again to Aj and all my readers! Hope you enjoy!

  
[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2yzefjm)

_Whole._

It’s a feeling Merlin’s never had the privilege to of felt. Nor does he have the correct wavelengths zooming around his brain to undercover all the cryptic undertones that lead one to understanding what being whole even means. 

No. He’s always been half. 

Half is something understandable. Half is solid. Half has reasoning, reasoning he can grasp. 

Half makes sense. 

He was raised by only half of the two who made him. He only finished half of his schooling. He has half the amount of body fat that a healthy person should have. He only has half of his sanity left. And he is never going to be anything besides a half of wasted space, clogging up half of the sidewalk, begging for change that will only get him half of the food that he needs. 

Bloody _half._

Well, when he jumps at least his death shall be whole.

\--

The building is absolutely despicable. At least that’s what his father would say. 

And that’s exactly why Arthur picked it.

It’s old and tall, reigning on the outskirts of the city. It’s peaceful and calm, away from the hustle of the living. 

And, yet still, it is perfect. His body may not even be found right away. 

Arthur smiles into the night, and looks up at the stars, thinking how he may possibly be with them in a few short minutes.

Thinking how floating in space, never existing again, or even hell sounds better than being stuck here—

“Get outta here, ya wanker,” a rough voice demands, pulling Arthur from his thoughts.

Wiping around, Arthur almost laughs at the absurdity—or luck—of it, because getting shanked by a homeless man, and bleeding out, might even be a better way to slap his father in the face one last time.

“Or what?” Arthur questions, unfathomed. Then, while opting to look the man up and down in what he hopes to be an intimidating manor, he jokes, “you gonna shiv me? Throw my body over the edge? Get a few peaceful hours of sleep up here?”

\--

Merlin gapes, because honestly, he may be scrawny and thin, but _everyone_ knows it’s not smart to mock the crazy homeless people!

Yet, here Merlin is, with fifteen feet between him and the end of it all, about to get into a fight with some posh arsehole. 

Seriously, the man’s got on a bloody suit that looks so expensive Merlin could probably sell it and survive for the rest of his life.

If he still wanted a life, that is. 

So, instead of fighting, Merlin sighs in defeat and explains, “no, but I’m about to jump off that edge, didn’t think you’d wanna be a witness to that.”

Merlin’s expecting sympathy, or maybe disgust at his announcement. However, the posh man merely stares at him with an unreadable expression, and then burst into laughter until he’s doubled over, gasping for more air. Leaving a confused, and slightly disturbed Merlin, awkwardly watching the scene. 

“Why does this happen?” The man breathes out heavily, and after catching his breath he continues, “Honestly, why can’t anything just bloody make sense?”

The posh man’s upturned head and thrown out arms lead Merlin to believe that he’s asking the sky, not Merlin, so he keeps his mouth shut even though he suddenly feels a little more at peace knowing someone else wants the same answers as he. 

\--

“You’re going to jump?” Arthur asks the homeless man, once he’s over his fit of _giggles._

Arthur would normally feel embarrassed by indulging himself in such a weakness, especially in front of another man, but he can’t bring himself to care. And he’s honestly waiting for the other man to bolt, or stab him still, but to Arthur’s surprise the man merely nods.

“No, I don’t think so . . .” Arthur says thoughtfully, then explains, “I’m jumping. Find a bridge or something.”

Arthur realizes he’s made a mistake as the homeless man stalks forward, his eyes suddenly wide with rage, but Arthur stands his ground. 

“You think you can just tell me what to do?” The homeless man practically squeaks out once he’s standing in Arthur’s personal space. “You can’t. Not tonight.”

The closeness has Arthur hitching his breathe, taking in the long slinky form of the other man that’s hidden under layers of sweat and dirt covered clothes. 

From here Arthur can smell the earth of the other man that’s brewing from too many days without a proper wash. It’s not unpleasant like one would expect, and Arthur takes the smell in - smelling grass, smoke from an open fire, and human musk at its finest. It takes him straight back to camping in the woods, and he can’t help but think it’s the best parting smell a man could ask for. 

Then, Arthur quickly remembers that he’s never been camping before in his life, because – _camping is not fun, my son, you must learn priority._

However, he knows this smell like he’s smelled it every day for years. 

But it’s the man’s eyes that really get him.

They are an unusual blue, it’s a deep midnight blue that almost looks purple as they reflect the moonlight, and Arthur suddenly has an, rather gut-wrenching, urge to see what color they are under the sun.

But it’s not just the color, that’s hardly what attracts Arthur the most. No, it’s the young fire, piercing independence, and vast need that Arthur sees in the other’s as their eyes meet. 

_Such passion,_ Arthur thinks, _over jumping off a building?_

And he knows at those thoughts that he can’t let this other man die. Not like this.

This is a death for men like Arthur. Those men who have wasted away into nothing, men who’ve lost that spark in their eyes.

Or, men who never truly had a spark, which Arthur thinks might have been the root of all his problems.

\--

“Here,” the prat says as he hold out a wallet. “Take it. There’s enough cash to get you started. You can even empty out my bank accounts. The passwords 8945.” 

“You think money can solve my problems?” Merlin spits as he snatches the wallet and tosses it off the building, then turns back to the man, adding, “Let me clue you in here, pal. Money doesn’t solve shit.”

“Obviously.” The prat snorts out, along with a bitter laugh that seems clogged in his throat. Sitting down, and gesturing for Merlin to join him, he adds, “My millions seem to have done nothing for my happiness. I was just hoping I could solve your problems . . . thought maybe money was your issue.”

_Millions,_ Merlin thinks while sagging down next to the man, _I just threw millions off a roof and could care less! What the fuck is broken inside me?_

His mind is reeling still as his back finds the cool cement edge behind him, and he looks to the other man, who’s stealing heavy puffs of the cold air around them. The man’s all blond hair, clean, and well-dressed. Not to mention fitter than a football player. Pretty much the complete opposite of Merlin who’s boney, dark-haired, and, well, homeless. 

It’s a difference as vast as the change from day to night.

And Merlin doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

He takes in the prat for a good minute before shaking his head, _no_ , money is not his problem.

“Then . . . whydoyouwanttodie?” The prat blurts out, but he at least has the decency to look like it slipped past is proprietary sensor.

Which has Merlin snorting out a laugh, and asking, “Why do you want to die, Mr. Prat?” 

\--

Arthur sputters, mouth opening and closing a few times—surely looking like some kind of fish-out-of-water—before he manages the greatly mature response of, “Prat! I’m not a bloody prat! Besides, I asked you first, Mr. um . . . Mr—“

“Street urchin? Homeless git? Dirty—“

“Mr. Googley-eyes,” Arthur finishes, taking back control of his own insult. 

“Googley . . . eyes?” The man asks with an arched brow, brief amusement flickering over his features.

Arthur feels a heat flushing his face, and he knows his cheeks are probably a pretty shade of pink, so Arthur turns his face away, and huffs out, “yes.”

“You’re really not going to leave and let me die in peace are you?” The man sighs out, eventually, after a few minutes of silence.

Arthur doesn’t answer, but he turns back to the man and their eyes meet. 

\--

“Why?” Merlin asks, and he means for it to sound harsh, but it really, really doesn’t. 

Merlin doesn’t understand why, either, but he gets the feeling that it has something to do with the other man’s eyes, and what’s hiding behind them. 

Reading people has always been a talent of Merlin’s, and there was even a time when he thought he might make a career out of it. By being some sort of palm reader, or psychic, but that plan went to shit like all the rest. 

Despite that, Merlin still prides himself on being able to read people like a book (and it’s amazing, truly, what one can learn while watching people on the street). 

And, this man, he, well, _God._

His eyes hold so much, and Merlin can’t help but see the stories in there. 

Merlin feels like he can see through the man, like he’s melting into the man’s layers and soaking in the other’s very soul.

It’s disturbing to Merlin, what he finds there, and an electric chill, which he’s only felt the likes of once, surges down his back. And, suddenly, Merlin’s remembering back to the first time it happened . . .

_Merlin’s cursing his uncle Gaius while sitting across from some wrinkly old git, in some creepy shop named The Dragon, and holding out his hand._

Why must uncle be such a nut? _He thinks as the old guy hums in some sort of approval at the lines on his palm._

_Eventually the man drops his hand and smiles up at him, saying, “You are an interesting fellow, young Merlin.”_

_Merlin just stares, with all the blankness of an uninterested nine year old._

_“Do you understand what it is that I do?” The man asks._

_“You, like, tell the future, right?”_

_The man laughs, “quite the opposite, young Merlin. I see the past.”_

_Merlin doesn’t know what to say to that so he stays quiet._

_“Do you want to know what I see in yours?”_

_Merlin nods, apparently that is why his uncle brought him here, and Merlin doesn’t want to be rude._

_“I see greatness. Strength. You have a very, very old soul, young Merlin. It has been through much, though you may never truly remember the events that you have lived through before. Your soul has seen war, along with its many casualties, and this is why in the future you must not let yourself dwell in the sinking tiredness your soul will try and bring upon you. For there is not many souls like yours that make it back here. Souls like yours have already found things that ground them, and bind them to this earth, in their past life. Souls like yours already have purpose long before they are placed in a body. And for this reason, the Fates are cruel for doing this to you._

_“You see, young Merlin, your palms tell me that your destiny, has been, and will be great. But I’m afraid this will be hard. For, your soul still seems lost, and I’m sorry to tell you that it may very well stay this way for a long time.”_

_Merlin just stares, a jolt of chill running down his spine, and he’s unable to say anything._

_But the man continues anyway, “Just promise me something, young Merlin, remember these words – A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.”_

After getting over the initial shock, Merlin decided the old man was crazy . . . at the time, that is, but as he grew older he could feel it. The ache inside of him, weighing him down, and he started dreaming of terrible things. At first he blamed his mother’s death for this, and then his uncle’s, but eventually Merlin gave in, and accepted it wasn’t just that. 

When he dreamed it was like he was living, he felt himself in the mist of the dreams like he never had before. He saw himself looking younger than he is now, and striking down a woman with lightening. He saw himself poisoning a beautiful young girl. He saw men slaying other men with swords. He could feel himself raging with hate in some dreams, and itching to tear apart a woman who sat on a throne. He dreamt of himself with a long white beard, standing on the edge of a mountain, looking down at red-caped knights and burly fur-coated men that were battling to the death, and he saw himself killing every last Saxon without even blinking an eye. 

And so much more. 

Before Uncle Gaius died, he tried to send Merlin to therapy. However, the doctors just diagnosed him with post-traumatic stress disorder, and were always trying to get him to admit who hurt him as a child. Which lead to him throwing fits and telling his doctors he would make the great dragon eat them. 

And all this is why Merlin can now tell, as he looks this other man in the eyes, that his soul, too, is old. He can tell there is centuries hidden behind the blue, and Merlin waits for the shock to fade, but it doesn’t.

Merlin suddenly understands why this richy-rich, posh prat wants this rooftop all to himself. He understands the weight this other is forced by fate to carry, and Merlin should leave, should let him jump. Let his soul move on, find heaven, or wherever. But he can’t move. He’s glued to the cold cement beneath him. 

And, just then, a childish thought comes to the front of Merlin’s mind.

He pictures this man who sits before him as a King, clad in armor, and a shiny crown. He thinks about his dreams, and how he always felt that back then he had some sort of purpose, he remembers back to a dream of the great dragon calling it his destiny. And Merlin thinks that maybe . . . 

_It is destiny._

\--

Arthur starts getting a bit creeped out with the man’s staring, but he’s not going to give up now, just because the guy seems to be appreciating his face a bit too much.

Besides, he’s still planning on not being alive after tonight, so he may as well die flattered. 

Eventually, the man speaks softly, “I never knew my father, and my mum died when I was five. I went to live with my uncle after that, and stayed with him until I was nineteen, then he died too. Only, by the time he died I wasn’t really living with him anymore, anyway. I was staying a Bart’s psychiatric ward, and had been since year twelve. They thought I had been raped, or beaten, or something, because I went a bit crazy. They thought I had PTSD. They were wrong. 

“Eventually, they stopped sending me to therapy, and I was too young and dumb at the time to shut my mouth, and get the hell out of there. So, they started feeding me drugs to help me relax. Then, my uncle died, and could no longer pay for my treatment. They kicked me out with a bottle of thirty Larazopan. And the rest is pretty much history. That’s . . . well . . . that’s why I’m here.”

Arthur’s shaken by this man’s story, and he doesn’t quite know why, but before he can reply the man stops him by speaking again. 

“Well, that’s not really it, I suppose. It’s not because I’m crazy. I always knew I wasn’t crazy, and I should have known better than to take their pills.”

“Then why did you?”

“Sleep. Mostly. Sleeping was hard for me. I, um, well . . . had nightmares a lot. I met a man once who was convinced that I dream about my past lives, and that’s how I got the PTSD. Apparently my soul is old or some shit, and fate beats modern medicine . . . I think I like that idea more than being crazy.”

“What the hell—“

“Hey! I told you . . . now it’s your turn.”

“I’m . . . I’m here, well, because I don’t fit,” Arthur tries to explain, but feelings or talking about himself have never been strengths of his.

“You don’t fit?” The guy prompts.

“It’s hard to explain,” Arthur replies, after thinking for a moment. He wants to spill everything, it’s the least he can do after what the other man has chosen to tell him, but he still finds himself coming up blank.

“Can I take a guess?”

Arthur nods.

“You feel like something’s missing, and like nothing you do will ever fill up what’s missing. Only, it’s not just that. It’s the fact that it seems impossible . . . all the things that you feel. You feel like you’re never going to have a purpose fulfilling enough. Like the things you were made to do are un-needed. You feel like your trapped somewhere you shouldn’t be. In a body that’s yours, but not at the same time. And it’s a heavy feeling, that feels like it will never go away . . . except with, you know,” the man finishes by pointing behind him, indicating the steep ledge. 

“Is that . . . how you feel?” Arthur asks.

\--

Merlin shakes his head, “Sort of. Not exactly the same though. I feel like I’ve failed someone in particular, not the whole world . . . but, I could tell you’re the ‘rough, tough, save the world’ type, so I guessed.”

The man laughs and it’s the most beautiful thing Merlin has ever seen.

And, God, when did he become so sappy? Five minutes ago he nearly despised this man, and all alike. He has a pretty enough face, Merlin supposes, but he thought the guy was a totally prick. 

_I mean, he literally told me to go jump off a bloody bridge, for God’s sake!_ Merlin thinks.

However, Merlin now feels different. The bitter taste has disappeared from his mouth, and Merlin finds himself looking at some sort of untouchable prize instead. 

It’s not just the man who has changed, though. Merlin has as well, somehow. He feels like . . . like—

And suddenly, a realization hits Merlin, hard. He feels, like, _whole._

But what’s weirder than this brilliant sensation that Merlin thought he’d never feel, is that the next thing Merlin realizes is that this feeling isn’t new. He doesn’t know if he felt it long ago when his mother was still alive, or in one of his dreams, or if he is finally losing it and letting his past life seep through the cracks of his subconscious, but none of that even matters anymore.

Because Merlin feels so, so, God. It’s truly better than sex. He feels purposeful, and needed.

He doesn’t want to die anymore. Not yet. Not like this.

The other man seems to notice—or feel—the change in Merlin, and Merlin suddenly reels back into reality. 

The only reason he wants to live is because of this man, who is a complete stranger, probably still hell-bent on dying, and—even if he wanted to live—he would surely want nothing to do with Merlin after this.

He panics, debating just going for it, jumping off before he can think too much, but something stops him.

Words he was told to remember pop into the front of his mind, and have him sucking in a cold greedy breath . . . 

_A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole._

It's silly, Merlin knows, but he can't help but wonder.

\--

Arthur watches the man’s emotions play across his face with attentive eyes. First, he seems to be in awe of something, and he looks younger like that – with his eyes sparkling, blankly staring at Arthur, lost deep to some thought. Then he seems to snap out of it, and the man’s face falls drastically. 

But then his eyebrows slowly furrow, leaving the man looking utterly confused.

Finally, the other man clears his throat, and asks, “What will make you not jump off this roof?”

Thrown off by the question, Arthur takes his time to think. 

He tries to think of his father, his sister, and what his mother would say to him if there really is a heaven and he really does get to meet her there.

_Would she think me coward?_ Arthur wonders, but has no idea what a woman he’s never even met would think of him.

Then Arthur thinks about the only reason he’s not dead yet, which is this homeless man who’s sitting next to him, and who’s managed to make Arthur feel more at peace with himself than he has in years.

It’s ridiculous, it’s the crazy kind of thing Arthur’s ever heard of.

But he says it anyway, because it’s true.

“If you don’t jump off this building, I won’t jump off.”

The man slowly smiles, and nods. 

Then, it’s like the start of a bad joke, or a Lifetime movie, and they’re both standing up, walking away from the ledge together.

It’s awkward, and Arthur opts for brushing off his suit in attempt to think of something to say now. 

When they reach the door that leads them back to the stairs, the man grabs Arthur by the arms, turning him so their facing each other.

He holds out his hand, saying, “Hi, um, I’m Merlin.”

Arthur snorts out a small laugh and shakes his hand.

“I’m Arthur.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see more of this, let me know! I've already got a sort of epilogue going . . . but I think I could make something really interesting out of this is if my readers wanted . . ?


End file.
